


First Impressions

by suney



Category: Alien: Isolation (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Canon, F/M, First Meetings, Mutual Pining, Robot/Human Relationships, i'm slow-burn kinkshaming myself, inappropriate use of emotional programming, unlikely friendship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2020-12-09 04:37:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20988980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suney/pseuds/suney
Summary: Prequel to Walk In The Park (Semi-drabble work)From the second Amanda met him, she knew something about Samuels was different... He was nice.





	1. First Impressions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, hopefully not another work that will sit in limbo for year. I promise so many updates are coming!
> 
> Originally supposed to be posted around chapter 48-50 of Walk In The Park after Certain Shit(tm) hits the fan, but Annabel7's incredible and soul-satisfying fic "Lucky Star" has got me going feral for On-Torrens Amanda/Christopher, that I no longer have the physical strength or self control to not throw this into the void. I'm sure you have already- but please go read her amazing fics again! 
> 
> Also, no editing we die like men. Enoy!

Amanda doesn't quite know what to make of the man standing before her. He's very tall, the first thing she notices, and very brave the second, for such a softly mannered person to come all the way down here. Surely her contempt for his type had been written in reports and analysis, and definitely put into her file which he had already confessed to reading. Red slips for threats of smelting fingers and jacked up shins. Of course that's all they were. Threats. Except that one almost definitely broken nose - fucking desk jockeys.

People knew better than to bring it up. Ever. Because poor Amanda with her abandonment issues and broken heart. No. Well, yes. But no, that's not really why she is out here. Pissed in ways that the suits in cushy offices could never fathom, and heaven help anyone who tried to step foot into that territory of pent up aggression. Yet here this guy is, still awaiting an answer, maybe too scared to drink his coffee. 

This man, Samuels whoever, is different in a way Ripley can't immediately put her finger on. He doesn’t prod, isn't slightly curious, or hide some agenda however poorly. She had developed a knack for reading people as if it were a survival instinct. Perhaps it was, growing up with one foot in therapy and the other in the Director of Human Resources' office, she'd quickly learned to not just speculate but discredit everything from above. Her gut caught up eventually. Though this man with his set features and kind eyes raises a field of red flags, he seems genuinely concerned and willing to help. 

Which is not something Amanda is... accustomed to. 

“Samuels, right?” She folds her arms across her chest. “Sorry, I just assumed you’d take coffee as it comes right out of the machine how most of us do. Do you want milk or cream or-" 

“No, this is quite alright thank you. I just, well, wasn't expecting it.”

Amanda pulls up a chair and Samuels looks into this strange offer in his hands. He hasn't taken a sip yet, there's really no need to waste it on someone like him. The labour, the freight to ship it out this far, her personal time and effort.

Why she’d expect him to would want it is curious enough. Drinking it means vacating his faux stomach. He doesn't know that experience yet, he's never had to do it before, but the thought of actively consuming brings up a list of commands informing him of such activities. It sounds unpleasant, but he isn't allowed to reject an offering either. So he takes a sip, and tastes… nothing. Receptors in his tongue tell him it's a very, very, strong flavour, but experiences none of it. 

_Shocking._ He thinks.

The android executes a smile and looks down, suddenly realising the chair Ripley had pulled out was for him. 

“Thank you Ms. Ripley.” Christopher feels strange accepting yet another offer, but does none-the-less. 

“You don't have to be so formal around here," Amanda sighs, "and actually I think I'd prefer you weren't. You kind of, stick out.” 

“Yes, no, of course. Apologies, Ripley.”

She rolls her eyes and shoves her hands into her pockets. “And here I was thinking someone as nice as you wouldn't have so many corporate sticks up your ass.” 

"Imagine your disappointment." Samuels quips. 

Amanda stares at him across the kitchenette like a lion sizing up a wounded gazelle. 

Christopher pauses as his programming gets a reprimanding strike. It gives him time to reflect on the fact this woman had just called him nice, and by memory it was probably the first compliment he'd ever received. Sure people had told him ‘good job', and ‘attaboy Sammy’, always followed by a compliment paid to not him, but to his boss or supervisor, or The Company as an omnipresent entity on how well they program their synthetic workforce. 

The second realization to eventually come is that Amanda may be unaware that Samuels isn't as biological as most in his abnormally high rank. 

"Apologies. I've developed a habit of speaking without much consideration." 

"And that's… a bad thing?" 

"For the likes of me," he says flatly, "yes."

“If they're using electric shock as behavioural correction on you lot now, blink twice.” Amanda is joking but seems to study him anyway. 

Christopher opens his mouth to clarify further but a young station apprentice pokes his head through the door, taking his companion's reluctant but full attention. 

“Hey, uh, Rip? There's a loader in the dock across station, another driver lost control and tore into the engine bay. There's not much to save but they said if anyone can fix it, it's the engineering crew.”

“Funny thing though, you're not out of breath.” 

“N- no? So what?" 

“So if you didn't run here it can’t be that fucking important. Ask the other guy, I'm on break.” 

The young man seems to shrink back out of the room little by little. Looking from the oil stained mechanic to Christopher in a crisp jacket and white collar. “Him?” 

“Does he look like he knows the first thing about machines?” Amanda snaps. 

Christopher tenses under his jacket. 

“No. But Ripley, there's- there’s no one else here.” 

“Fuck sakes. Send the diagnosis sheet to my Wey-link and I'll be there in twenty. Oh, and take some tools down with you on your way. Whatever we might need, tool bag is over there.”

The kid nods and wrings his fingers. 

“Yes, thank you bye.” 

She waits until the teen is out of earshot before slumping down in a chair. "Is there any good help on this station?"

Samuels can't experience fear, but if he could he'd definitely thank the stars she got off on the right side of this woman. She seems to look him over in a way that makes him wonder what exactly his face is doing.

“What?” She snaps.

“Maybe if you didn't frighten all the good help off.”

"You mean the kid? He's actually okay. I just make him a bit nervous." 

"I can't think why." Samuels takes another slow sip. 

She leans forward in her chair. "But not you, weird enough." 

"Lack of a nervous system I suppose." Samuels watches Amanda laugh, however wounded, and looks down into the empty cup. Wishing it lasted just a little longer. 

"So he does have a personality-"

Something clatters in the workshop and Amanda walks to the door to inspect what had fallen. The apprentice is standing over a gas canister rolling slowly out of an ion torch, which is in-turn rolling out of her tool bag. 

"Look, put that down I'm literally on my way now, just let me get a coffee!” Amanda calls out to the young man fumbling to fix the device or burn his way through his protective visor. He doesn't need anymore convincing to leave it alone and go. “Jesus.”

Christopher places the cup down on the table and grabs her attention again. "Thank you again."

“You don't have to, it's a terrible brew. I'm sure it's better up where you work." 

_Weaker, perhaps._ Christopher ponders. "If you don't like the coffee, why drink it?” 

Amanda takes his empty cup and without rinsing it fills it again for herself. “You don't have to really enjoy it for it to do the trick. It's just a little break, sometimes you have to have one out of necessity. Why, do you actually like it?” 

“No, I suppose it's quite hard to.” There's a finality in his voice as if his interest has finally run short. 

Amanda taps the cheap plastic with her fingernails. "So when do we leave?" 

"You're coming?" 

"Nothing for me here." She says as if she hadn't been waiting for a message like this, for someone to take her this seriously, for fifteen years. 

Samuels looks to buffer this knowledge quickly. "I'll send the details to you as soon as I'm back in the office." 

"Do I need to come up with you to sign my life away?" Amanda can tell he hasn't the faintest idea what she's talking about. "I assumed this... Agreement, would be on a contract."

"That will be unnecessary. The other Exec and I will be doing all the work. Ripley, I only managed to get you a seat on the Torrens, to come along with us. I'm afraid you won't be able to intervene much further than that." 

She nods slowly. Wondering if he knew how much intervening she was really capable of. "I see. Thanks, in any case.” 

"Here to help." 

"Well, see you soon then?" Amanda salutes to him with her cup. She presses her own lips to where his had just been moments ago, pulling a horrendously offended face bordering on pity, and ducks out the door.

Christopher swallows. He supposes the drink wasn't such a waste after all.


	2. Snap

Christopher is amazed how easily Amanda speaks to him. Constantly. His only experience with humans had consisted entirely of either being studied, the human mind unable (yet still struggling) to deduce meaning and intention in his voice and actions, fighting to perceive emotion as if he was capable of anything of the sort. Or avoiding his gaze completely, like he was created to x-ray souls instead of push paperwork around an office. 

It had only been one busy morning and Amanda already spoke like he'd been her friend since forever. Or rather more wishful thinking, had been her friend at all. Their conversation being so contagiously natural. She took him in and nodded, shrugged, and punched his shoulder in jest. Never reading him, waiting on the mark to catch the brief stutters of humanity. In the only way, at least so far, he always left people disappointed, but she continues to accept everything.

Maybe because she doesn't know any better. 

Maybe because he was all she had right now. 

Samuels sees her smile and he can't remember what she had been talking about. The earnest crack of her usual hard surface, making way for this lively grin. A few words escape her lips make their way to him like “and then they-", “it blew, and put a hole in my leg-", “seriously like this big-". In hindsight it probably wasn't appropriate to do so, but he had been caught smiling too even if very, _very_ slightly. Something Christopher had never really recalled doing before. 

“Whoa, that's new.” Amanda pinches his shoulder gently, “thought I was never gonna make someone like you do that.”

Christopher's smile vanishes immediately. “Someone like me?” 

“Legal.” Amanda laughs. "Executive."

“Right, yes, I don't think I do this very often.”

“Not often enough. It suits you.” She’s beams even brighter for a split second and Chris thinks he might just do whatever it takes to make her do it again. “Now don't get me wrong, I don't either but whatever stone-like facade you've got going on doesn't shake easy. Would make you a hell of a poker player." 

Chris muses. "Quite possibly." 

"And now I'm dying to put that to the test." Amanda gestures to the playing cards in the centre of the table. "How about a game over lunch? Verlaine and Connor look like the type. Nina... she might surprise me." 

He shrugs. Making note to really stop that. It was not only unprofessional but also quite rude to his standard. "Perhaps another day, we do have two weeks before we're due to be in stasis. And I feel as though I'd have a significant advantage today." 

Amanda recoils and lets out a disbelieving huff. "The fuck is that supposed to mean?"

Christopher leans on his elbows to think of a delicate way of saying 'you damned alcoholic'. 

They'd only been on board the Torrens for a few hours and as soon as their induction was over the dining room cleared out like a bad smell. It had been an earlier morning than some were used to, Taylor vanishing back to her bunk as soon as possible. Verlaine and Connor were on the bridge yawning over steaming thermoses. 

And Amanda. Well, she was already a finger of whiskey down. 

"I mean, should you be drinking that at this time?" Samuels asks, twisting the neck of the bottle between finger and thumb to read the label. "It's six in the morning." 

"Don't be a dork, I'm coming from night shift. This is PM to me." She rubs her eyes tiredly. "And to be totally fair, I'm cutting the bar at one, just enough to take the edge off."

"It didn't say on your file that you're... Uncomfortable with space travel?" 

"Pretty familiar with it are you?"

Samuels swallows. He hopes it's not completely obvious. "I like to know who I'm travelling with."

"Me too." Amanda says, all cheer gone. "And here I am on a hired mystery-courier, 'The USCSS Torrens' with two Company Employees, piloted by people I don't know from the next guy. Not to mention on a super generous, super out of the blue, holiday." She reclines and kicks her foot up against the leg of Christopher's chair, trapping him into the table. On purpose or not, he doesn't look like he'd entertain the idea of leaving anyway. "Tell me how I'm not the odd one out here." 

"You're right." 

"I am?" She raises an eyebrow. 

"Indeed. Though you don't have to be the odd one out. To be fair, news of the flight recorder came out of the blue too, so The Company had to make special arrangements for it to be picked up immediately. The Torrens was the only available ship, I looked into it myself. Captain Verlaine and Mr. Connor are reputable people, they run an honest, if not modest delivery business, and have kept this ship in very fine condition considering it's age." He ponders what is left in need of reassurance. "Taylor is shy, a little crass, but a very kind person. I feel like she is worth knowing." 

"And who are you?" 

"I am- not unique, in any way. There are thousands of others like me." 

Amanda scoffs. "I doubt there's even one."

Christopher clears his throat and reaches for the playing cards, tapping the corner on the table gently. "How about that game?" 

She laughs, with ridicule more than humour. "You can't play a _good_ game of poker with two people." Christopher's face barely changes. It's hardly on purpose, but it seems to drop in a way that Amanda can't stand seeing. "What about something else?" 

"Such as?" He unravels the cards from the elastic band and shuffles them mechanically. 

"You know how to play snap?" 

Her companion thinks for a moment, going through databases of games and long-haul entertainment. He shakes his head. 

"Oh my God, Samuels. You lot really are a lost cause. Do they beat fun out of you on your tier of Legal or something?" 

"Or something." Christopher softens his words. "What are the rules?" 

Amanda takes her pile of the deck split exactly in half. "These are mine, and they're yours," she turns a card from her pile over in between them, "put one down on top of it flipped over so you can see what it is, if it matches the number card underneath, you slap your hand down and yell 'Snap!'"

Christopher places one card down, and with what Amanda would consider outrageous reflexes, slams his hand down, not over two sevens but the table in front of himself, well before she can react. 

"You have the spirit, but-" she lifts and places his palm over the cards, "there, and you gotta yell snap." 

"Snap?" Chris says, more of a question. "Better late than never." 

Amanda squeezes and roughly shakes his hand in playful frustration. "I have half a mind to not let you get away with that. But fuck it, you're a newbie." 

Christopher beams, without smiling. His eyes radiating a joy she hadn't expected to see, especially in him. 

"Don't get used to it though." 

"Oh?" He places down another card onto the growing pile, and another, and catches an arresting glimpse of his crew mate, overcome by a grin, dewy pink cheeks and tiny wrinkles in the corner of her eyes. "I wouldn't dream of it."

"Snap! Ha!"


	3. Sleep

Christopher's fingers, Amanda ponders silently, are extremely warm. She wonders if it has anything to do with the heavy boots and thermal jacket he wears zipped up to the tippy top. They aren't clammy at all but dry and smooth, almost velvety. And taken away far too soon, she decides.

He stops the timer and pulls his hand from her throat, picking up the pen and in sequence, clicks it on the desk, flips it, and scribbles some medical jargon on her sheet. 

“You're not sleeping.”

“Read that on my chart did you?”

He looks up briefly and then back to the report. "How many hours do you think you've rested since we left port two days ago?"

Amanda finally removes a hand from her track pants pocket to rub her temple. "Three?"

"Not good. Not good at all." Christopher puts the pen and clipboard down to swivel on his chair and look her straight in the eyes. “I'm sure you know, I cannot allow you to enter stasis if you keep going on in this state. It’s difficult enough on the human body to be anaesthetised for so long. If it is already fatigued beforehand it can be a very rough few days waking up on the other end.”

Amanda folds her arms. “Don't see how you can stop me.” 

“You would be surprised.” _Watch me link with Muthur and see her not activate your stasis chamber._ Samuels gives a trusting shrug as her eyebrows shoot up. It's a casual manipulative gesture he knows will take well with her, coaxing the woman's shoulders to relax in his presence. "Tell me what is wrong?" 

Amanda looks at him sideways. Leaning her backside against his desk. "I don't need to 'talk about it' if that's what you're getting at." 

"And I won't make you. I purely mean if you're in need of some sleeping medication or anti-anxiety pills, you'll have to go through me anyway. As the chief medical officer, I'm here to help all of the crew. Even the toughest of us in mechanical."

Amanda thins her eyes slightly. Sizing him up. He wonders if she had taken his previous statement as a challenge. 

"Fine." She blurts. “Strictly professional to professional?"

"Obviously." 

"I can't sleep in my bed.” Amanda kicks the table leg with her heel. “It's so cramped in there, and with all those other bunks. Gives me the willies. And Taylor snores like a truck, and then showers at about ten when I'm just laying my head on a pillow. _And_ the air conditioner rattles like the ship is falling apart. I just, can't rest, so I figured early cryo is better than nothing.” She states as if she doesn't have another choice. 

It is still sleep, and so what if she wakes up feeling like she’d been on a two month bender (again)? That few seconds of bliss where the feeling of calm overcomes everything. Lifted up into a thick cloudy sky, submerging yet floating. The world, it's worries, the bodily demand to acknowledge aches, the need to breathe, none of it matters. It sinks; she ascends. She's already missed it for over ten years. 

Christopher rests his elbow on the desk. Swiping at insignificant particles of dust. “I have a remedy in mind," he pauses and places his hand down flat, "but it's a little unusual.” 

“I'll take unusual.” Amanda stifles a yawn by pressing her mouth into her palm. 

“You have two options. A, which is the regular of the two: I give you some Valerian and you see if you can't get a bit of rest in your bed, because prescribing you any actual sleeping pills now will interfere with your stasis by the time they start taking effect. Or,” Samuels straightens his jacket, “option B: you sleep in here. I will be over there doing checks of the medical supplies and filing paperwork, in the same room, to keep an eye on you. Your vitals, I mean. I'll be able to tell you when you're rested enough to go into your chamber, if you still want to.” 

Amanda surprisingly enough hadn't said no yet and he seems to have forgotten how to stop talking. 

“That gives you," he checks his watch more for dramatic effect than because he couldn't pull up his own personal clock synced with Muthur, "five hours of undisturbed quiet rest while I'm here, should you sleep within the next nine and a half minutes. Give or take a few seconds.”

The woman thinks for a while before nodding decidedly. “Option B.” She yawns again, this time unable to seize it. “I really don’t want to sleep in that room.” 

Christopher Samuels fetches the pillow from the patient's chair, folding it over where her head will soon be. Something autonomous takes over him as he watches her already begin to nod off sitting up. It's not a program, but a motion that posed no room for argument that directs her over. If he didn't know any better, which he did, because he was smarter than that, he'd say that might be what an urge would feel like. 

“I should go get my sheets and stuff right?”

“You're better off sleeping how you are now. You already look about ready to drift off. Give me your foot.” Christopher unlaces her shoe, and the other, and places them neatly by his desk. She can't help but laugh at the sudden accommodating nature, and he seems to do well ignoring her. 

“I'm going to have to leave you for a while as there are some medical supplies in the galley to be accounted for, but that should give you an extra hour or so.” Samuels shrugs off his jacket and hands it to her, his white popped collar unbecoming of a company official. Amanda can't help but pit him up against a different kind of cookie cutter. Maybe one she's more accustomed to in leather with steel pins and ruffled hair. “Now, I do have work to finish, Ripley. Please, get some rest. I'll be right over there if you need anything.” _At all._ He thinks, rather strangely.

Amanda nods and rewards him with an un-reciprocated smile, squirming into the semi padded table. Frankly, it is far more comfortable than her futon in the workshop cribroom and not as springy as her bed at home, in a far less stabby kind of way. All in all, it's rather perfect. 

Peeking out from under her eyelids she sees him sit at his desk, lift up a stack of paper, tap it down neatly, and click a pen a few times. 

“Samuels,” Amanda feels her eyelids flutter. He doesn't turn but hums in response. “Why do you never smile?” 

"I do."

"Mm, but not really." She pulls the pillow down under her chin further. Hiking the jacket up over her tucked knees. "You look like you want to, all the time, but you don't. It's… sad."

"I don't mean to upset you." His scribbling has stopped. “I suppose I have never really known anything worth smiling about.” 

“Never?” 

“Not in my years." 

"Oh." Amanda sighs. "When are you leaving again?"

"In about five hours."

"Then you're coming back, right?"

"Promise. Now. Sleep. I don't want to have to tranquilize you.” 

“Oo, sounds peachy. If only I had known about option C.” 

Finally a comfortable silence falls between them and the scribbling begins again to fill it. 

"Hey, Samuels." The pen scrapes to a halt.

"What?" His voice sounds short, but there's a hint of humour in his impatience. 

"Goodnight." 

"Sweet dreams... Amanda."

Christopher turns back to her as she drifts off, the warm fuzzy feeling he'll never know taking over. She notices the curious scent of damp aluminum and a sweet tang of iron, which is all but the smell of home to an engineer. If she opened her eyes even a crack, she would have seen what could only be described as the softest smile in the universe. 

She doesn't however, sleep coming easier to her than it had in years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yoo, there's more to come but it's 12:30am and I work at 6 tomorrow so I'm going to call it a night. <3


	4. Christopher

It isn't the clock that wakes her at seven bells, but the shuffling of papers and pens on a metal desk. How she managed to not only sleep through but actually be rather comforted by the noise, she'll never know. 

The man approaches and places his fingers to her throat, in her half dozing state she responds to the touch, lifting her chin slightly. After finding a steady pulse, he places his unfamiliarly cold knuckles on her forehead, and all things considering, Ripley thinks she does a pretty good job at pretending to be asleep. It's not hard taking into account the groggy swell in her head, she's partially thinking her doctor had been serious about the tranquilizers. 

Samuels tucks her further under his downy jacket again and turns to walk away, stopping with a quiet "ah" and padding back over. 

“Don't wake up. I'm just leaving you this so you know I will keep my end of the bargain.” 

Amanda doesn't respond, in fact she probably couldn't even if she wanted to, as a clipboard is slipped gently under her pillow. Struggling to open her eyes, she squints through her lashes to see a doodle on a scrap piece of paper of an analog clock only an hour from now, and the man in the doorway taking a last glance back, nodding to the time on the wall. The door slides closed and footsteps trudge away. Leaving Ripley hugging a slice of cardboard to her chest as if her life depended on it. 

By the time it takes Samuels to comes back, Amanda would have sworn that he'd rushed. She wonders what that might've looked like from Verlaine, Taylor, or Connor's perspective in the galley. 

He digs another clipboard out from his desk and tears a form of sorts from a nearby spiral bound book, beginning to take stock of the supplies before him. 

"Good morning." Amanda mumbles, gently rising from sleep, properly this time. She'd almost forgotten what it felt like. 

"Ah, good morning Ripley. Or rather good evening." He watches as she kicks her legs off the table, stretching high enough to reveal a strip of skin at her waist. He averts his gaze immediately. "How did you sleep?"

"Like the dead." She puffs. "So, the big question, Doc. Am I ready for cryo yet?" 

"You still want to go under?"

"Hell yeah," Amanda yawns, "I've tasted sleep and now I want more."

Christopher looks apologetic. "Unfortunately, you need to be awake for a few hours before you go under again. It gives you time to stabilize and for me to get a better reading on your health." 

"What the hell am I going to do for another few hours except sleep?" 

"How about Snap?" 

Amanda chuckles. "No way, you get competitive, big guy. And you have one hell of a slap on you." She rubs her wrist. 

"Oh, I apologise." His programming gives him an unhealthy dose of static into his visual feed. "I never realised I was being rough." 

"It's fine, I figured we're even because I got you a few good times too." She unconsciously wanders around the med bay, stretching her legs. "Do we have time for, I dunno, a movie?" 

"You do." 

"Thought you were supposed to be keeping an eye on me?"

"I'm sorry, Ripley. I don't have _that_ much time to spare. I still have an astronomical amount of tasks to complete before I put myself under too." 

"Why?"

Samuels pauses, ticking a box off without looking at the page. "Because it's my duty." 

"No, why do you have to be the one to put everyone else to sleep, and then what? No one's there for you?" 

He turns back to his work immediately, counting a stack of epinephrine needles with his, at this point, beloved pen. "I would have thought that was normal, given the situation. I don't think there are many people like me who have ever been 'tucked in' so to speak." 

Amanda nods. "I suppose you're right." She raps a tune on the clipboard in her hands. "Tell ya what, fuck cryo. I'll help you with your jobs today and every day, and we go under at the same time end of next week. It's bullshit you have to do it alone." 

"Why does it bother you, if it doesn't bother me?" 

"As someone who has been going to sleep alone without even so much as a 'goodnight' for a very long time, I know how much it sucks. You shouldn't have to do that, especially not if you're there for everyone else."

Samuels actually considers it, only a small fraction of his computer calculating what was wrong with him. "It would be irresponsible of me to allow."

"I've been on a bunch of voyages, nothing bad has ever happened." She nudges his shoulder at an arms length. "What's the worst that could go wrong?" 

He turns directly to her. "The cryo-tube could lock and the oxygen inside could ignite by an electrical fire and you could burn alive while I am unable to help in any way." 

Amanda doesn't know if she should worry about how unfazed she is. "Even if that did happen, which is bullshit unlikely, what could you possibly do even if you were awake besides just witness it? Every one per million times that has happened, there has been no survivors." 

"That's very grim." He doesn't admit it, but she is right. "It means you'll be awake for another week and a half?"

"Whatever." She rolls a shoulder. "What do we have to do?"

"I- I have a list on the desk, it's-" 

Amanda doesn't wait for more convincing, she wanders over to take a look. 

"Ripley, please wait!" 

** _Samuels, Christopher. S-Executive #1209_ **  
** _List as follows:_ **  
** _\- Run diagnostics,_ **  
** _\- Catalogue medical supplies,_ **  
** _\- Calculate and ration food and other consumables,_ **  
** _\- Complete daily report and submit with_ **  
** _ detailed copy of all captain's logs,_ **  
** _\- . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . _ **  
** _\- . . . . . . . . . . _ **  
** _\- . . . . ._ **

There's a silence that fills not only the room as she reads, but also the majority of Samuels' vast mind's reach. A small voice from somewhere at the very back, _she knows, she's seen it, oh God what does she think of me?_

Amanda's laugh is so sudden and so hard he thinks she's going to burst a lung, she holds the desk for support and clutches around her waist. 

"W- what's wrong?" He asks in a confused flurry. Rushing half way to her before stopping in his tracks. 

"You-," she squeaks with laughter again, wheezing on the inhale, "you're an 'S-Executive', it's-"

"Yes, I'm so sorry I should have told you earlier. It is my mod-"

"Oh my Lord, I _hurt_. It literally spells Sexecutive, Samuels!" 

Christopher watches the colour stabilise in her face as she takes a seat. Gripping the edges of it as she struggles to quieten her snickers. 

A wash of calm runs through his programming. "I fail to see how that is so funny."

"Oh, come on." Amanda coos. "You're like, the most vanilla dude I've ever met and they call you a Sexecutive." She wipes at her eyes. "I'm so sorry. Like you just know right, that a bunch of old dudes in suits were sitting around and thought that job title up, and not one of them, not a single one realised that it's _such a bad thing_." 

Samuels folds his arms across his chest and she holds her breath to calm herself, sensing the not so subtle discomfort of her friend. His expression on her is stern, and only seems to make the laughter all the more forbidden, and all the more sweet. A single tear runs down Amanda's cheek and a smile finally cracks his frown, followed by everything else. He laughs shortly, but genuinely, leaning back against the doorframe. So glad that no one was around to see this. 

"Oh, my, God." Amanda sobs again and sniffs, fanning at her face. "I really needed that. Actually, you know what else I need right now?"

Christopher lifts an eyebrow, still chuckling to himself. 

"A fucking coffee." She bites her tongue and swallows the joke about the simple pleasures of a coffee and a cigarette after Sex-ecutive. "Would you like one?" 

He thinks for a moment, suddenly overcome with the urge to stretch this moment out as long as he could. "In fact I would, thank you. However you have it would be perfect."

"No problem, Christopher: Weyland-Yutani, Senior Sexecutive Officer." Amanda howls as she stumbles out the door patting his chest on the way past. As she goes he can still hear her all the way down the hall, into the kitchen, and disturb a few other voices into asking what exactly had been so funny?

"She- called me Christopher." Samuels says to no one but himself... "Wait, 'Senior'?!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RIP to me an hour ago but I'm different
> 
> Here, have one more
> 
> Goodnight fr!


	5. Company Issue

“Hating this.” 

“It’s not _that_ bad.” Amanda says. “Do you want some help?”

“No. No, I don’t.”

From the neighbouring bunk, she watches Nina unpack or rather shove her belongings away neatly into storage below her bed. A large wheat coloured jumper stubbornly refuses to fit and she gets onto her knees, pushing with all her weight to squeeze it down and in, the handle light turns an eerie shade of red. 

"What's wrong with you?"

Nina groans. "It wasn’t half as awful being on this ship until I started unpacking, now it feels like I’m moving in and this trip will never end." She pokes a coat hanger into a navy collared jumpsuit. 

Amanda says nothing, especially not how she had tripped on her crew-mate's duffel numerous times wandering to bed in the dark and the fact it’s now at the bottom of her locker is the greatest relief. 

“I can't stand space travel. If I had the choice I would be in cryo a day before stepping on the ship and a day after, just so I don't remember anything." 

Samuels can't help but interrupt from over the top of a Manila folder. "That is incredibly unsafe." 

Amanda gives him a playful smirk. She was meant to be helping him but he'd insisted on drawing the line at eight hours a day, and writing reports really was a one person job. Still, despite not requiring her assistance he never seemed to stray too far away from her, whether he realised it or not. 

"Have you ever been in stasis before?" 

"No." She flops onto her bunk with a huff. 

“Oh,” Amanda sits up onto her elbow, "you're in for a treat." 

"My God, Ripley. Why?" 

"Waking up from a month long sleep is the grossest feeling. Like your cells have to be brought back to life one at a time, y'know?" Amanda's eyes widen at Taylor's panicked in-breath. "It doesn't hurt! It just feels... nasty. For what it's worth I can't wait for all this to be over and get back to Luna. Start again. It’s been a long time coming." 

“To know what happened to your… To Ellen?”

"How do you know about that?" Amanda takes a glance to Christopher who pretends he doesn’t know she’s looking.

He hadn’t shown Taylor her file, hadn’t even told her about it. The only reason she would know is also the reason she was personally scouted for this mission; Nina is consistently thorough at what she does. And that, from what he heard, was basically everything.

"Come on. I've familiarised myself with the case, it's kind of my job. There was an E. Ripley on board the USCSS Nostromo, not hard to piece it all together." She softens. "Your mother?"

Amanda feels a little apologetic for grilling Samuels alive. "Yeah, she was." 

They fall into an uncomfortable silence and the other woman seems desperate to reclaim the conversation. "Luna, hey? What's waiting for you there?"

"Nothing important." 

"It's a man-friend then?" 

She appreciates her attempt. "Not exactly." 

"What does ‘not exactly’ mean?" Nina teases. "Is it more casual than that? Oh my god, have you got a secret husband?" 

Christopher's ears pique from the other side of the room, experiencing a mysterious jolt of energy as Amanda scoffs, disgusted. 

"Fuck no. Do I really look like the marriage type to you, Taylor?" 

"So?" She prompts eagerly despite her counterpart's astonishment. "So who is it then?" 

Amanda lays back down on her bunk, scratching an old speck of overlooked tape from the wall. "I had someone, but they've moved on now. We were… official enough." 

"I'm sorry. What happened?"

"Nothing really. She was deployed-" She stops herself from saying _just like everyone else she was even remotely fond of_, "to Wright-Aberra fuel depot. As a doctor! Talk about punching above my weight, right?" 

“She.” Taylor looks taken aback. "Oh. Oh! That actually makes so much sense." 

"And how?" 

"I don't mean to stereotype, but you're a mechanical engineer with perfectly manicured fingernails? Suspicious." She sings. "Not to mention your fashion sense, or lack of one." 

A disbelieving glance down reveals a tank top and ripped grey sweatpants. The elastic strap of Calvin Klein boxers tight over sharp hips.

"Don't be daft." Taylor caws. "There's no way someone dresses like that on accident. Hey, Samuels?" 

Christopher turns his shoulders slightly, eyes still glued to the task at hand. "Apologies, I wasn't paying attention." _Lie_. "How can I help you?" 

"Actually, don't worry, I was going to ask you for fashion input but remembered all you wear is Company Issue." Nina pokes fun but it doesn't land.

"Really?" Amanda frowns. "Everything?"

"It's all I'm- it's all I… have." 

She sits up completely, slinging her arms over her knees. "Come on, Samuels. You have way more personality than that. On God, when we get to Savastopol I'm at least buying you a nicer jacket." 

He wants to protest that there’s nothing wrong with his jacket and she had no complaints about it the other day, and that now, on a completely unrelated note mind you, he was quite a bit more fond of it in general. But doesn’t. 

"I'll come!" Nina chirps. Despite not knowing Amanda very well, she doesn't look opposed to the idea. "I've never passed up an opportunity for a shopping spree and I won’t start now." 

"Thank you both,” Samuels says, “but that won't be necessary. We will only have twenty-four hours to wrap things up, there won't be any time for pit stops." 

"When we get back to Tranquility then?" She judges his response closely. "If you're going my way, that is?"

Christopher, for no other reason than the fact he has to physically unfreeze his CPU, gives her nothing to work with. "That could be a possibility. I'm there often but it depends solely on my work schedule. I could- call around, if I'm able, and if you like?" 

"Promise?" 

"Promise." Samuels nods. 

Ripley nearly opens her mouth to say it'd be a date, and then chase it quickly with just how much of date it wouldn't be and then apologise profusely for good measure, but Nina catches her attention. 

"Speaking of Luna!" She sits up over a cushion, chin in her hand. "You're yet to tell me more about this lady-friend you had there. Ex-lady friend. Lady-friend, ‘The Former’. Whatever." 

"Why would I do that?"

"I'm a notorious gossip, also nothing exciting ever happens to me so I live vicariously through others." She throws her other pillow across to Amanda who lobs it back without missing a beat. "Go on then?" 

"Fine, fine. It doesn't matter anymore. What do you want to know?" 

"Ooh tell me where you met. Spare no details!" 

Samuels isn't certain why, perhaps his discretion settings, perhaps an objection to eavesdropping on principle, but he doesn't stick around to hear any more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Casually throws another character I love in the mix. Let me know if you figure out who She is, I need to talk about her!


	6. The Intervention

"I hear you have been helping Samuels with his duties. Know him well do you?"

"Not really. Good guy, hard worker, an asset to the team for sure. Is there a problem, Captain?" 

"Does he know you well?" 

Amanda pauses and examines her interrogators. 

She had been summoned into the bridge at eight to see a very flustered Verlaine and Connor standing cross armed in the navigators station. To begin with, they looked astonished she had come alone and not practically fused at the shoulder by her synthetic friend. The doors were locked, and the barrage commenced.

"He knows me by file, probably better than I'd like if I can be honest. He's still… trustworthy with it." Amanda says, an awful hollow sinks in her gut. "Why are you asking me all this?" 

"Listen," Connor speaks up, "it's nothing serious. Only that he's been working non stop for over a week, when you started helpin' him out me and Diane thought he would get frustrated and give up. But the resilient bastard almost seems encouraged by it."

"If it's bugging you to keep him busy then why are you giving him so many tasks? You know I see his list every day right? It's always getting longer and way more intricate." 

Connor rubs his forehead and Verlaine steps in, surprisingly not saying anything to do with watching her tone. "We don't give him those, Ripley. He types them up himself. The guy just about spontaneously combusts if he's not constantly making himself of use to someone. Now that I mention it, I think I've actually seen Executives do that before."

"Look, what's the issue? He's a helpful person." 

"Please. Ripley. He's done _everything_." Verlaine plops down in her chair, now her voice was saying _careful_. "I'm giving him a day or two off, and because it's all the same to me, you can either entertain him or let him lose his marbles." 

"Him or us." Connor sighs. 

"Fine, fine." Amanda rubs the back of her neck. "I'll see what I can do. Is there anything else, Captain?" 

"No," Diane smiles gratefully, "that'll be all, Ripley." 

She gives a disciplined bob of her head and wanders down off the bridge into the corridor. 

"Oh, before you go." Verlaine calls out. "Thank you, and have fun." She says as if sharing some inside information with her. 

"No problem, I guess." 

Amanda didn't know what she was expecting from this summons. Maybe a slap on the wrist for keeping a messy living area, maybe a warning for loitering in the medical bay, or even sleeping in there occasionally. But whatever it was, she never could have expected the request to babysit a grown man.

One glance back as the doors beep, flash, and unseal, and she sees Verlaine and Connor leaning over the railing, watching her right until she's out of sight. Ripley shivers the odd feeling away like her soul had been cavity searched and makes a beeline for the crew quarters. 

"It's weird, don't you think?" Connor muses.

"What?" 

He nudges her shoulder. "How close those two are. I mean, good for them but-" He puffs air into his cheeks and Verlaine laughs, nudging him back.

"It's nothing like that, Bill. She's a mechanic," Verlaine tells him, realizing from his expression that it hadn't just explained everything, "of course the artificial would flock to her."

Her partner eventually nods. "Are we ever going to tell her it was actually us trying to chill the guy out? Giving him those things to do together?" 

Verlaine scoffs. "Fuck no."


	7. Go Fish

"I- I think I just got laid off." Christopher says to the galley as Amanda messes together some cornflakes and whatever liquid comes out of the first mystery urn. 

Boiling tea it seems. She pulls a face and shrugs, blowing on it and taking a spoonful.

"I've never been laid off before. Did I do something wrong?" 

"Samuels." Nina hisses. 

He perks up. 

"I said 'go fish'." 

"Oh." His face remains unchanged but he sits into his chair again, picking another card from the pile. "I wonder if I could convince Captain Verlaine to reconsider." 

"Take it easy. Enjoy some free time. We're nearly two weeks in and you haven't stopped working since we left." Ripley crunches through a cheek full of cereal. 

"She's right." Nina announces down her nose at her cards. "Even someone like you can get worked to death." 

"In many ways, that is impossible."

"I'm being serious, Samuels."

"As am I."

"Why impossible?" Amanda sits on the chair beside her and turns to push their backs together, bringing her knees up and balancing the bowl atop them. Nina leans into it comfortably. 

"It is why I was made... It's my purpose."

"No one is 'made' to work." The devout mechanic who realizes her hypocrisy takes another bite and promptly realizes she should have waited until it was cool.

"Alright, I'm actually with Samuels here, but I stand by that everyone needs an occasional break." 

"Ghwhat?" Amanda gurgles into her food and chokes. 

"I get bored quickly if I have nothing to do. It must be so much worse in his case though, all the... uh, extra brain-power." Nina looks over her shoulder. "And that, is disgusting, by the way." 

Samuels looks pleased with the small amount of backup, intending to return the favour. "I agree, even I know that is a perversion of honest breakfast food."

"I've eaten worse."

"Yeah, I don't doubt it." Nina laughs. "Uh. Where were we? Oh yes, Queens?"

Christopher scans his cards. "Go fish. Right, um. Jesters?" 

"Shit!" She jerks forward to throw two cards down and Ripley squarks. Hot tea sloshing out of her bowl and down her front. 

"Taylor!" She yells, pinching the scalding fabric away from her skin. 

"Jesus! Samuels, hurry, get the paper towel!" 

"No, no, don't waste it." He's already halfway over when Amanda stops him. "It's fine, I need to do laundry anyway. This is my last damn shirt." 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

Samuels offers his hand to take the bowl, placing it a safe distance away. "Would you like help?"

"You just want work to do." 

He considers lying and realizes himself completely incapable, not by an inhibiting program but the idea of looking this particular human in the eyes whilst being dishonest is haunting. "Yes." 

"Then no, sit your ass down. It'll only take a few minutes, then Taylor can deal me into the next round?" 

"Sure!" 

"Great." Amanda gets to her feet and huffs, blowing air down her shirt as it steams and sticks like glue. "Ah, fuck this is disgusting." 

Before both Christopher and Nina can avert their eyes, Ripley has adjusted the sports bra beneath and peeled her shirt over her head, scrunching it into a sloppy ball. If either onlooker could drag their eyes away from the offensively muscular waist before them, they could have turned to see the other looking just as dumbstruck as they thought they were masterfully disguising. 

Taylor clears her throat as Amanda disappears down the corridor and by the time her attention is back on the table, her only other friend is gone too. 

"Am I supposed to pack this up myself then?" She calls out, taking a guilty peek at Christopher's cards. "Damnit, I knew he had Aces!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Is this how you even play Go Fish? It's been y e a r s.)


	8. The Park

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one chapter update today! (Sorry for the confusion last time .-. )

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” 

Christopher practically throws the book he’s reading out of ‘his’ bunk with an internal shock, his systems lurching with the binary equivalent of '_Jesus_!' and also, somehow... '_shit_!'. 

"Woah, sorry!" Amanda laughs. "I thought you would've heard me come in."

"I did, actually. It was just very unexpected… that." Samuels collects his book up off the floor and brushes the cover off. He looks up to see the woman standing at the corner of his designated yet useless rest area and quickly averts his gaze, managing to make his mortification ten times worse. "No one has ever startled me before." 

No one had even tried. If the unpredictable occurred he would be presented with a polite alert, calmly and collectedly informing him of a change in his environment. However, something to do with 'slacking off' and being caught in a reclined position with an indulgent activity, by no one other than a still shirtless Amanda Ripley, made the quaint little notification turn into a trumpeting alarm.

"My washing's done, it's just in the dryer now." She mumbles, sensing his lone discomfort. "Sorry."

"Oh?" The synthetic asks as if it had been a discretion setting that had forcibly averted his gaze and not a foreign guilty ache. "Do you need anything?"

"Do I always have to need something to be around you?"

"Well, no?"

"You disappeared, and we're supposed to be hanging out. Captain's orders. Apparently.” Amanda leans up against the nearby wall, the cold metal seeping into her arm. "I was just making sure you weren't getting stuck into something that could classify as work."

“You came looking... for me?” 

"Yeah." Amanda frowns, supposing she had. "Yeah, I did."

That isn't unusual, so why did she feel all of a sudden like it is? When one was busy and the other was bored, they'd seem to find each other. Coincidentally, yet without fail. They'd collide around corners and in passages and pick a direction to go on the spot. Together. It was a small ship, she had reminded herself. So it was odd to discover she had been talking over her shoulder in the laundry for thirty minutes and Samuels hadn't materialized at her side. No comforting presence, no witty remarks, and she _missed_ him.

“Despite what Captain Verlaine says I do not require a carer or supervisor. I am perfectly capable of entertaining myself, Ripley.” 

Amanda recoils at the new tone the man had adopted, but looks to be almost encouraged by it. “Despite what you think of my kind, I know that, _Samuels_.” 

“Your kind?” 

“Mechanic. Meat-head. Grease monkey?” She kicks a toe into the ground, folding her arms across her chest. "Take your pick."

"No. No, I don’t think that at all, I think you're brilliant- at what you do." He adds quickly, anticipating an oncoming awkward silence. "Might I suggest finding Taylor? She's still playing solitaire in the galley. I'm certain she will appreciate the company, and you get along-"

"_We_ get along." 

_We. Us. Friends. Capital F._ "I see." 

"If you're trying to tell me you need some space you can just say so. I don't mind."

"Not at all! It's quite alright! I just thought I would be rather... boring. My current activity not being anything you can really help with. But please, have a seat if you wish."

Amanda doesn't take his offer but looks to the book in his hands. "What were you reading, y'know before I scared the life out of you?" 

Christopher looks down it's spine after a momentary hitch on _"Life", not applicable_. He had been skimming it, quite literally. For him it was an invariable setting. Able to absorb entire pages in a blink. Documents, data sheets, files. But he had found himself taking in word by word, line by line, scanning and re-scanning again, just to retain a skerrick of the information. 

After a while, Ripley reads the title for herself. "I never picked you for the romance type." 

"It's Captain Verlaine's, she gave me the choice of a handful of books and it was the one most convenient to take." He's finally able to meet Amanda's eye again. "Have you read it?" 

"No, but I saw the movie. It's sad. I won't spoil the ending."

"Not to worry, I've finished it already. A few times... I don't really have much else to do. Time passes the same for me regardless of what I'm doing. No 'flying by when you're having fun'."

"Lord. You really must be going out of your mind." Amanda pulls her dimpled shoulders toward her ears and rubs her forearms. "Sorry they laid you off. I think they just want you to take it easy. You're not employed by them but you did most of their work, and they don't seem the sort to feel indebted to someone." 

"It's quite alright. They are honest people, and I know they meant no harm." Samuels gets to his feet and pulls one of his white shirts from a hanger. "Please, put this on. You must be freezing. I'm not entirely sure why Verlaine has insisted the medical bay and bunk room be this cold, the rest of the station is sweltering." 

"Yet you hardly take that jacket off." 

"I did, the other day." 

"Right. Yeah, right." Amanda hesitates before accepting the gesture. "Wearing your clothes is starting to become a habit. Makes me wonder what the others will think?" 

"I assure you, anyone who knows me well will think nothing more of it. Not that there is anyone else here so see. Also, I have a duty of care for you being the voyage's- chief medical officer." He waits until the tee is pulled over her head and she settles into it, twisting the back up and slipping it into her waistband rather fashionably. "Speaking of which, I've been meaning to ask... of course you know- I mean to say, are you aware-?"

"Hey, do you want to help me with something?" Amanda clicks her fingers. She hadn't been paying attention or wasn't interested in acknowledging the truth, either way wasn't great in his frankly undervalued opinion.

Still, Christopher refrains from saying _"God, yes"_ because he truly is bored out of his mind and because Ripley had been the one to ask, and instead calmly nods. Wandering to follow Amanda to the edge of her bunk as she pulls out a tablet. “What with?”

“You can sit down to start.” She pats the bed beside her and shuffles out of his way as he gingerly lowers himself to the mattress with a heavy squeak. “What do you reckon?”

“These are... apartments?”

“Yeah.” Amanda picks a fingernail. “After all of this is wrapped up I’m thinking about a change of scenery."

“Would you consider somewhere natural? By the ocean perhaps?”

"Like Nights In Rodanthe. You are a hopeless romantic." Amanda smiles affectionately, punching his shoulder makes him teeter from the waist like a metronome. "Not by the ocean. I like the idea of water but that's too much for me."

"What about by a park?" He hands the tablet over with a Company property file on it. "Somewhere you can get sun and exercise, it's reported that plants and wildlife can increase general well-being. As well as decrease anxiety and depression." Christopher detects the warning stare from his left and carries on. "This one has a lake or... duck pond?"

“Not Earth.” Amanda murmurs finally. “If I ever move to fucking Earth you know things have gotten bad.”

"Why?" 

"It's easy to hide. Just disappear. I wouldn't be down there for any other reason."

"Noted. Not Earth. So you're definitely going back to Tranquility?"

"Definitely... Hey, that's more like it!" She points to an image on the screen and clears her throat. "Earth-_view_."

"You seem like you already know what you're looking for. May I ask why you need my help?"

"It's nice to know where your buddies live." Amanda tries to keep the hope off her voice that practically begs to know if he genuinely would contact her if he was ever on Luna. "Don't you reckon?"

"Yes. Yes it rather is nice." He agrees, sitting back a little further against the wall. "I could… still call around for a visit. As promised."

"I'll make sure I buy a kettle." Amanda smiles.

Christopher mirrors her perfectly. It isn't a program he executes, the usual mockery of emotion, a hollow display of organic expression, but something else. Almost learning. Mimicking. Adapting. 

Amanda wriggles around to lay her head on the pillow, patting down the sheet next to her. The bunk is barely big enough to fit them both so her friend has to lay on his side to leave enough room between them, his chest barely inches from her shoulder. She points to different properties, going between a few that are almost exactly the same, except this one has an extra guest room for, _"y'know, you, if you ever needed somewhere to stay. Or Taylor. Or anyone."_ And the others are furnished. Despite it, she seems to keep flicking back to the first.

Samuels finds he couldn't care less, somewhat hoping she doesn't notice his loss of interest in the tablet. Head resting in his elbow, half on the same pillow as Amanda. Trapped between her and a wall. He's actively memorizing this angle of her face, scanning every freckle, line, and scar, making sure if ever she's near, even amongst a crowd or in the corner of his eye, he'll recognise her. His friend. Possibly, definitely, the best one he'd ever had.

"Christopher?"

"Mm?" He mumbles professionally, blinking on purpose.

"Are you coming to have some lunch?"

"Lunch?" Christopher brings up the time and basically reels. "It's three o'clock!" Inwardly panicking that she'd notice him stating the time without glancing at the tablet.

"Yes, Samuels. It is?" His friend drawls. "Something wrong?" 

He shakes his head for a suspiciously long time, running a quick check of his and Muthur's connection. Synced perfectly. How exactly is it possible he'd displaced four whole hours within what should have been two?

"Nothing. Nothing apparent, in any case."

"Great. So, lunch?"

Christopher waves her on. "You go ahead. I might just linger back for a while. Have a rest." _Run a disc cleanup and software diagnostics._

Ripley nods and yanks her blanket out from under him with a soft grunt, brushing hair back into her ponytail. She drapes it over his shoulder carelessly, yet somehow perfectly, and goes to head out.

Samuels, currently in a state of internal chaos, has to aggressively force himself to speak. "Ripley?"

She stops on the spot, her arms tensing as if she'd stepped in something heinous. "Yah?"

"Are you going to be wearing my shirt in the galley? Around our crew mates?"

She pauses before looking back slowly. "_Yah?_ Problem?"

Christopher is sure he'd find out soon what error is currently shredding his perfect composure. Maybe something lingering in the Torrens? It was an old vessel after all, and who knows what calibre of synthetics had access to it before… He could have been infected with a bug. A virus. One that would be responsibly corrected.

He wouldn't go so far as to say willingly.

"Enjoy your lunch, Amanda..."

She tilts her head to him and turns, conscious yet uncaring of the spring in her step.


	9. Heart of Gold

"So," a clipboard is slapped down in front of Samuels’ face, "what the hell do you think you're playing at?" 

The synthetic almost sighs, _why are people always asking him that?_

"I just saw the schedule. You think you can pull a fast one on us?" 

William Connor folds his arms crossly, he looks especially irate today, bordering on pissed, but it somehow doesn't register to the synthetic as a threat. Like he's just flexing his muscles. Asserting dominance. Chris would give anything (if he had the the ability to own it in the first place) to not get caught rolling his eyes right now. 

"Look, I don't care what you two get up to outside of work hours, but you're on the Company’s clock and Ripley is our responsibility and passenger. It's inappropriate. And that's rich coming from me."

Christopher wonders if this is what being on a roller coaster feels like. "I'm afraid I am not exactly following-"

"Statis. Samuels. The stasis roster." The man taps the bottom line of print-perfect cursive. "You've gone and put Miss Ripley last, with yourself. Convenient. For your extracurricular activities. I wouldn’t expect anything less from her, but you? I’m shocked, to say the least." 

As if the missing piece of the puzzle slots into place, Christopher gasps, standing up formally. William's back snaps straight in retaliation, unwilling to let himself be towered over by a Goddamn android, on his own- partially, by romantic affiliation- ship. 

"It's not like that. It's- complicated."

"You mean, there's feelings involved?" He sighs. "I fucking told Dianne this was happening, but she just said you two were friends. _Just friends._ Convinced it was because you're a synth and shes a mechanic, of course you'd hit it off. Or whatever." 

"We _are_-" 

Connor holds his hands up, his eyes scrunching in the corners. "I don't want to know. If y’all really have to get it out of your literal system when we're asleep, the only thing m’asking is just do it where there's no surveillance. No one needs to accidentally come across that while monitoring the feed. You know we use the footage in our reports, right?" 

Samuels nods. Knowing he wouldn't get a word in any direction before the man wears himself out. Connor doesn't give the synthetic a chance to open his mouth anyway. 

"So that's, in the shower cubicle," he counts on his fingers, "the lower deck engine room, and the pantry. On the floor. Below the counter. The galley camera can’t see over top of it." 

Christopher places basically every other splinter of fragmented information, of which there is a lot, flying around his system on hold to pinch a singular curious one from midair. "The pantry floor? That is unsanitary." 

"Me'n Verlaine live on the ship. Are we supposed to just listen to the radio for weeks?" He claps his hands together. "Oh. That reminds me, no cameras in the captain's quarters either but don't you even fucking think about it." 

"We _wouldn't_\- _I_ wouldn't- _I couldn't_. Even if I we were, which we've not-"

"You just said you are!"

"Friends!" Samuels raises his voice, experiencing a problematic heaviness in his artificial stomach. "We are nothing more than that." 

"Oh yeah sure, that's why she leaves the med bay at three bells sometimes- there definitely are cameras in here by the way- and why you're never more than six inches from each other." 

"Apart from now, obviously." 

Connor points in warning. This time he does register a threat, not of harm, but a smart comment away from being written up and taken off the case. He'd be removed from the boarding schedule, and Amanda would be on Savastopol alone. Taylor too busy doing both of their work to spend any time with her. Console her for whatever she might find. When did that even become his job? His self appointed responsibility? 

"Not to mention, she was wearing your damned shirt yesterday."

Christopher is reprimanded by a mighty zap in his emotional processor. He _knew_ that was a bad idea, he damn well knew, but he still let her walk out in it. Because that's what friends do. He thinks? The worst of it wasn't even that though, but it being of completely selfish motivation. It was pleasant to the eye, it not to the knowledge that a human, one he rather appreciated, was wandering around the ship wearing something of _his_. So what if The Company owned him and by extension the clothes on his back? The unstable pang he’d perceived when she returned it this morning was only remedied by wearing the very same tragically crinkled shirt today. Unsure why he insisted she not need bother running it under the steam cleaner. 

"Nina Taylor," Chris starts, calculating his words to not throw her under any proverbial busses, "spilled a frankly nauseas concoction of hot tea and cereal over her, and she had nothing else to wear until her washing was done. I thought her borrowing one of my shirts would be better than letting her wander the station in a state of undress, seeing as I pack more than I require. Clothes don't get dirty from me, other than catching dust." _Like furniture._

Connor waits patiently for him to finish. "You're serious?" 

"Absolutely." 

"Scouts honor?"

"Pardon?" 

“Nothing.” William waves his hand at him. "Just... it still doesn't make sense. Why does she spend so much time in the medbay?" 

Samuels doesn't know if he can even answer this one. How could he possibly betray her trust and disclose her struggle with restless nights, her anxiety, and her past, on top of the fact she is days away from severely belated news on her mother's disappearance? Not only would it be against his code of confidentiality, but vastly more important, it would sully their friendship. He couldn't. That's final. 

"Taylor snores." _Oh my God._ At least it wasn't a total lie. "She tells me the sick bed is more comfortable than the seats in the galley."

"Really?" Connor reels in disbelief, not at his story but the fact that Nina, petit Nina, is a snorer. 

"Yes. I encourage you to check the cameras, we have done nothing indecent in here." He speaks up as the other man opens his mouth. "Or anywhere. At all. You can go through the feed. Look at my history. You'll find nothing logged in intimacy." 

"Shit hey?" William pushes his cap up to scrub at his hair and settles it back over his brow. "I swear to God, you've thrown me for a fucking loop here, man." 

Samuels doesn't know what to do but pat his hands to his thighs, shoulders back, standing awkwardly as far as synthetics go. 

"I'm sorry, I swear I thought- are you sure?" Connor leans in a little. "I don't actually care what you two are doing, it's just that you two seemed to be bleedin' obvious about it got on my nerves. That and the thought a fucking android was showing me up in my own home-away-from-home." 

"Nothing is going on." He's trying to not be offended by the last remark, though the bland nature of his comment was rather refreshing.

"Well, that's on me, pal." He pats Samuels shoulder with an apologetic dip of his head. "I am sorry."

"Not to worry. You acted well within your rights." 

"Still a dick about it." Connor folds his arms and leans back against the desk. "Can I ask you a question? Man-to-man?" 

Samuels is sure it's a trap, but it's irrelevant as he has to agree. "Of course." 

"Why haven't you?" 

Christopher recoils. "Why haven't I what?" 

"Done anything about it?" 

He thinks for a moment. "She's not attracted to beings in my form. If you understand what I mean."

"Artificials?" 

"Men." 

Connor does a double take. "Well, maybe not but it's obvious she's into synthetics. Painfully obvious. And again, I don't care, neither does Verlaine. Whatever floats her boat, and your boat, or if you even have a- you get it. I’m tryin’ to say she likes you a lot." 

"Impossible. She doesn't know." Christopher says quickly, surprised the lie hadn't been registered. Waiting for the alarm. Hoping, even. It never comes, which he decides is so much worse. "She doesn't know I am… not real. I would very much like to keep it that way. We have built a solid friendship, and I fear if she knew, it might be ruined." 

"Don't be thick, Samuels. Of course she does." Connor rolls his eyes so hard his whole head wobbles around on his neck. "She likes you anyway." 

"She refers to me as 'alive', and 'human'. Which is vastly inappropriate for someone of my make. I'm certain she doesn't know." 

"Hm, okay, weird. Isn't that offensive to you guys?" 

Christopher shakes his head lightly. "Not at all, though it does tell us a great deal about character. Usually, it's because they respect us regardless, or it's because they're unaware." 

"And which one do you think Ripley is?" 

"Think? She's unaware. Hope on the other hand… Well, I'd like to hope it's the former." 

"Yeah, I bet." The other man looks on sadly as the synthetic turns away. "I'm not going to say anything to her but-"

"Say anything to who?" 

"Ripley!" Samuels recognises the voice immediately, turning on his heel and backing up next to Connor against the desk. They stand shoulder by shoulder like young boys caught getting into something they shouldn’t have been. 

"Uh, Verlaine." The other man jumps in, earning a thankful glance. "I've just been asked to not say anything about you and Samuels going into stasis later on than the rest of us."

"You saw the roster?” She steps into the medbay. “It was my idea, not his. I take full responsibility." 

The second mate scoffs. "He's not in trouble. I ain't gonna say anything to the captain. Not like she'd give a damn anyway." 

"Thank God." Amanda puts her hand to her forehead and slumps against the doorframe. "I mean, thank you.”

Christopher clears his throat and takes a step forward. “Is there something you need?”

“Oh, yeah, I just came down to say Taylor is ready for her last minute check up. She's a bit tense about the whole thing, so get your game-face on.” Amanda stretches her white knuckled fingers and flicks them out. "She has a grip and a half when she’s scared, I tell ya."

"Right, we can’t have that, can we?" Christopher manages a short smile. “I’ll be down in a minute with something for the anxiety." 

"I knew you had a heart of gold, thanks Samuels. I'll tell her you're on your way?"

"If you would." 

Ripley gives a short wave to them both and wanders out. 

“Fuck.” Connor blows air through his tight lips and slaps the synthetic on the back. "That's rough, buddy."

“It’s alright. I’m actually quite used to it.”


End file.
